Gracie & Gray

Chapter 16

G R A Y

I was sixteen.

Mom and Dad had gotten into another stupid argument. Like they always did.

Except, this time, it was worse. Way worse.

This time, he wouldn't stop beating her, shoving her into the wall, or kicking her while she slumped to the ground, all cut up, bloodied, and bruised.

This time, Mom lost consciousness.

***

I called Lydia later that evening. Just like Gracie asked me to.

My nerves had been on edge ever since Gracie kept pressing me at lunch. Something screamed at me—a sixth sense, instinct, intuition, if you will—that this particular conversation with Lydia might very well change everything between the three of us forever.

Lydia picked up after the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me, Gray."

"Oh, wow! Gray? I-I wasn't really expecting to hear from you..."

"Yeah, well, I met up with Gracie today, and I thought I'd check in on you..."

"Oh, fuck. Did she say something about the baby?"

"The baby?" I repeated slowly. "As in, our baby?"

"Yeah, well..."

The line went quiet.

I prompted, "What?"

"I've decided to keep it."

What?

It took a moment for her words to register: Lydia was keeping the baby.

Our baby.

Which meant, which meant—

I was going to become a father. Oh, man, oh, man, oh man...

It felt like the air had been ripped from my lungs. I could barely breathe.

This was going to be a fucking nightmare.

A total fucking nightmare.

***

In a blind rage, my fist flew towards Dad before I even realized what I was doing.

My knuckles crunched against his cheekbone. The force of impact sent him reeling, stumbling backwards. He fought back. He gave me a black eye and a bloody nose.

I didn't care. I didn't stop. I kept going.

Years of pent up rage and anguish exploded from me in this very moment. I grabbed my dad by the collar of his shirt. I kept pounding, pounding, pounding into him. Into his fucking face. The skin on my knuckles broke and bled. The pain was unreal, but again I fucking didn't care.

I remember thinking, very clearly, that I wanted to kill this motherfucker.

Eventually, my dad tried to get away from me. He tripped on the kitchen floor. I stalked after him. I leapt on top of him and continued to pummel away. I took out two of his front teeth.

There was blood everywhere. So much blood.

If my mom hadn't woken up in time to call the police, to beg me to stop—

My dad didn't die that night. He ended up in the ICU, but he didn't die.

I realized, then and there, that I was entirely capable of killing him. That I had wanted to do it. That I would've willingly gone to juvie or prison for it. That I was very much his son.

That I was a monster.

Just like him.

***

After I ended my call with Lydia, I sat down on the couch. I buried my face into my hands as my entire world crumbled around me.

I couldn't be a father. I couldn't do it. I simply didn't have the correct DNA to be a father.

The idea of turning into my dad filled me with so much dread. I vomited twice that evening and couldn't fall asleep until the sun came up.